


Spiritus ex Tabernam

by nyandeshiko



Series: Alger's Curiosities [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Found Families, Gen, a ghost story for the recent past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyandeshiko/pseuds/nyandeshiko
Summary: A botched exorcism brings together a strange crew of people, ghosts, and magical creatures into a small shop that sells antiques to cover for a magician's side business. Can they learn to share a home together? Or will it all fall apart?





	1. Prologue- Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. First I'd like to thank you for clicking on this story, and for being willing to take a chance on this. Second, I'd like to note just a couple of things.  
> Firstly, this is actually an edit and repost of my first... well, frankly disastrous attempts to give this story life online. Tumblr is not a great outlet for posting fiction, and I have had issues with the formatting there. So I hope that AO3 will be a bit kinder to it.  
> Secondly, I try for consistent weekly updates, especially considering that this arc of the story is pretty well complete, but I have a few short additions to finish for it. So I won't be updating how many chapters it has until then. But at present, I have seventeen finished. I can't always update on my preferred schedule, and I'm still in the process of editing. If you enjoy this story please be patient with me.  
> Thank you for your time. I hope you enjoy this.

Most people only get one chance to live- you’re born, you live and share life with others, and you die. It’s how it’s supposed to go.

Tsubaki, at sixteen, was living again… and yet not living. The teenager had forgotten so much in his imprisonment in this lonely house, where none could see him, none but the stray cats and raccoons that got into the attic from time to time, but he could remember quite clearly his previous life and the events leading up to his death.

The boy was pretty, almost unnaturally so, none could deny that. Wide, almond eyes, pouty lips and such pretty, baby-plump cheeks. He looked almost like a girl, and one day, a female friend of his had pushed a dress at him and demanded he change. He had obliged the girl, and been dragged around town and introduced as her cousin from out of state. Somehow everyone had been fooled, and Tsubaki found he could really enjoy this. The transformation from the image of perfect son to a less-than-attentive mother, a less-than-kind stepfather, the perfect elder brother to twin siblings, to something new and exciting, something he could be more liberated in, was amazing. He had let the girl give him dresses, learned how to do makeup, and got increasingly skilled at sneaking out of the house to go to parties at night, when “she” was invited. He had adopted Tsubaki as his name then, to the point that after…

Well, he couldn’t remember anything about his name now, what it had been, the letters it started with, anything. And then one night it happened.

Tsubaki had been invited to one of the biggest parties of the year, where everyone who was anyone was set to be there. He’d turned down the invitation as his male self, knowing it was the kind of thing he would never be interested in, too busy working hard and studying to go to such a foolish thing… but it was the sort of thing that would be right up “her” alley. Drinking, dancing, loud music and more. He’d set down right after dinner, under the pretense of doing homework, knowing his stepfather would never interrupt him at that; even if his mother was out of the house for bridge night she would never forgive that man if he inhibited Tsubaki’s studies, and the twins were out playing down the street. He had peace to do his makeup perfectly, to fix his hair just so, and to choose the perfect dress, a black and red concoction that the girl had bought specifically for him- red lace to bring out the perfect blue-black of his hair, black to offset that so-pale skin. He looked perfect. He was mere moments from sneaking out of the house, out into the backyard where there were so many places to hide until his stepfather quit the living room for the softer pastures of his and his mother’s bedroom, when that man entered the room, carrying a bag of chips and a soda- something his mother must have asked him to do. It couldn’t have been worse timing.

The man shoved him into the bathroom, ran the sink full of water, and shoved Tsubaki’s face into it, holding him down at the neck and screaming muffled commands to wipe that shit off his face, what the hell was wrong with him, boys didn’t wear that shit, and so forth. All Tsubaki could think was how hard the pressure at the back of his head was, and how hot the water was, and how his lungs burned, before everything went black. When he woke up again, he could see his body, lying on the floor soaking wet, still in the dress, police bustling about and investigating. There were sobs from the hallway, the twins. A woman stood tightlipped inside the door, his mother. His stepfather was nowhere in sight, and although Tsubaki screamed, a watery sound until the liquid left his phantasmagoric lungs, screamed at the officers to stop staring like that, couldn’t they see who his killer was, how could he have drowned himself in that sink, why would he have, no one heard. Tsubaki retreated to the attic of his house, and when his family left, it barely made a difference. His things were left in the attic for the next family to go through, to decide they didn’t want, to leave behind, until they left, leaving the house unoccupied.

Tsubaki could remember every second of his death clearly. He really wished he couldn’t.


	2. Part 1- Enter the Shopkeeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A botched exorcism, and the beginning of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delays, dear readers. I sort of sunk into another fandom, then Voltron season 5 came out, and then Story of Seasons ate my life for... like three weekends. Now I'm working on some other craft stuff in meatspace, but I can take a break from the blanket I'm making to post this.   
> (No, really, please, I need a break from that blanket, my hands are cramped, I can't hold the crochet hook anymore.)  
> So please enjoy the true beginning of this little tale!

                The house wasn’t a grand thing, some relic of the 1950s, a charming little two-story ranch that looked like something plopped down out of an episode of _Leave It To Beaver_ or something, blending seamlessly with the rest of suburbia. The trees outside the house were trim, the bushes neat and flowers lining the path in varied shades of oranges, reds, and yellows to complement the crème-and-brick façade.

                The grey man smiled as he tread up the concrete blocks that made a narrow path and rang the doorbell. A worried-looking woman answered, her husband close behind. “You rang about a disturbance?” he asked, silver-grey eyes sparkling as if to say ‘of course you did or I wouldn’t be here’. The woman nodded, and stepped aside to let him in, the tears welling in her eyes saying volumes about her worry for her family. The man gave up his armchair to the mysterious figure with the smooth accent from who knew where.  “So, Mr. Alger…”

                “Oh, I’m not him.”

                “What? But we called his shop…”

                “And I’m minding it for him while he’s away. He’s to be gone indefinitely, and rather than close up, he allowed me to care for the place while he’s absent.” The man smiled.

                “Then, Mister…”

                “Oh, ‘Shopkeeper’ will do fine, thank you. It’s much better for me to not give my name; you’ve no idea the trouble one can get into for giving that to the wrong person.”

                “O-oh, like in the movies, where the demons can possess you if they have your full name?” the woman tittered.

                “I was thinking more along the lines of law enforcement and warrants, but your idea sounds much better!” The Shopkeeper laughed. “So what seems to be your problem?”

                “W-well…. I think we have a succubus in our home,” the woman whispered conspiratorially, continuing as the man leaned forward. “See, our son’s been acting strangely lately- it’s not because of his age, he’s never given us a bit of trouble before even though he’s almost 16, and it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong per se. But at night, sometimes, I hear the strangest noises, and he says something… I’m not sure what, but it sounds like a name.”

                The Shopkeeper could have walked out right then; he had a good idea what was going on. Nevertheless, he had to get to the bottom of this, and he waved her on. “And then there was last week. I was putting something in his room, and I’d have sworn when I looked up there was the reflection of a girl in black on his bed. But when I turned around, nothing.”

                “A girl, eh? How did she look?”

                “Well,” the woman mumbled as she grabbed her husband’s hand, “I didn’t get a good look. But I know the dress was older-fashioned; my older sister had one similar to it in high school, it had red lace and the figure was shoeless. Imagine, it making itself at home here!” Her lips pursed and he fought down a laugh. Her indignation at the thought of a creature making itself comfy in a house that was probably its home before it was ever even built amused him greatly, but the idea wouldn’t amuse his hosts so much. And like or not, the shop did need money; he needed to buy more wormwood ash before next week was up or he’d be unable to make that potion for the elderly gentleman who claimed it helped with his debilitating gout. And that was good money. “So do you think you can help us?”

                “Well, you’re worried for your son, correct? He should be able to tell me more about this, er… succubus, was it?” He wasn’t sure it was that, exactly, the house didn’t seem to have the feel of the oversexed _femme fatale_ in it, but perhaps that was more thanks to June Cleaver here and her scowl of disapproval. He wondered if such a thing could be bottled and sold. Mothers everywhere, save your face of crow’s feet and frown lines, let this suburban mother do that for you! Now available for fifteen bucks an ounce.

                “In interest of keeping him safe, we’ve sent him to his grandparent’s for the summer.” The father said, and he could not have looked more like a stereotype had he had a pipe in his lips and brandy on the table beside him. “They’re honest folk, country stock.”

                “Ah, would you permit me to call him and speak with him about this creature?”

                The woman ran for the phone, possibly dazzled by the Shopkeeper’s smile. It worked quite well, he thought. The man followed her to the phone in the kitchen, shooing her out once it was dialed and letting the door slap closed behind him to afford privacy. No sixteen-year-old would ever want to let his mother hear about such things. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity before the sound of a barely-matured voice answered.

                “Hello?”

                “Good afternoon, young man, your mother and father have procured my services to rid your home of a succubus they feel is plaguing you. I’d be grateful for any and all information you have pertaining to this creature, likes, dislikes, habits and sundry other items.”

                “…wait, what?” the kid questioned. “Is this about Tsubaki? He’s not any trouble, I mean it! Mom’s just ticked because he almost shoved her down the stairs when she tried to get into the attic, he didn’t mean anything by it, that’s just been his space for forever!” The kid kept talking even as the Shopkeeper kept trying to ask more. “I mean, yeah, mom got a twisted ankle from it, but that’s his stuff and he’s got nothing else really, mom didn’t need to throw anything out, he’s really a good kid, just kind of bitter but I would be too, really—“

                “Okay, I get it.” The Shopkeeper cut the boy off- damn, kids talked too much. “So where did you find this, er, Sue-bah-key?”

                “It’s Tsubaki, the ‘t’ is pronounced but not emphasized.” The kid huffed lightly. “It’s Japanese, if that helps.”

                “Not much. Don’t speak Japanese. So where’d you find him?”

                “I was poking around the attic, and saw him. Now he mostly hangs out in my room. Says it was his before.”

                “All right, that should be enough, thank you.”

                “Are you going to hurt him?” The kid didn’t sound his age, and the Shopkeeper wasn’t about to lie.

                “Probably. Ripping a creature from its home causes a lot of pain for it. But your folks are paying me to do this, and you’re probably suffering some ill effects. So I won’t kill it if I don’t have to. Thanks for the info, enjoy your summer.” He could hear the gasping sob as he ended the connection, and felt nothing. He had a job; he wasn’t being paid to pity the teenager. He returned the phone to its hook and emerged from the kitchen to see the woman waiting and wringing her hands, before he pointed at the staircase. “Which room is your son’s, and where’s the entrance to the attic?”

                “T-the second door on the right, and the attic entrance is in the hallway, very end, there’s a pole we use to open it…”

                “Thank you, if you could remain here until I return, that’d be appreciated.” The Shopkeeper didn’t even wait for the reply, he simply headed on up, spreading a line of salt he’d filched from the cabinet as he reached the top step. He entered the room expecting to have to call the incubus out. He didn’t expect to see it sitting on the bed, flipping casually through a magazine as if it were simply relaxing and waiting for someone to come home.

                He could admit that it had chosen quite a pleasing form, a slender male in a black dress that looked like a modified Mandarin shirt-dress from the 60s, lace edging the bottom in blood red, collar barely managing to hide what looked like a red-blue-violet choker around the swanlike neck. Ebony black hair was left slightly long, fluffy and mussed carefully, with fringe almost covering his eyes. Bare feet were propped on the bed, and the Shopkeeper chuckled, both at the woman’s indignation going unheeded by this careless demon, and at the appearance- he could see easily how she’d confused him for a succubus. Dark brown eyes, lined in ink black, looked up from the magazine, and a frown settled on those pretty pink lips.

                “You’re not the boy. Who are you?”

                “I’m of no importance. I merely need you to hold still for a few moments.” A look crossed the boy’s face for a split second, and the magazine was hurled to the floor as the incubus shot to his feet and out of the room. The attic door shuddered as the Shopkeeper ran into the hallway, and he was forced to dodge a box of old _Better Homes and Gardens_ and _Vogue_ s from the early eighties as he opened the hatch, climbing swiftly up the ladder with a shouted ‘stay the hell down there, dammit!’ at the homeowners. More salt went on the top rung (or at least, as much as would stay there), and still more at the opening of the attic, the darkness stretching out like a yawning maw, toothed with remains of old furniture that didn’t fit in the designer interior and boxes of photographs and memories, until he saw a faint gleam of sunlight.

                The window was half-blocked by a curtain that was torn to shreds at the bottom as if a raccoon had gotten at it, and the window itself was dusty and dingy, the motes of debris in the air floating peacefully. The frame of an old bed was propped in a corner, a bedside table and broken lamp beside it, chairs torn and upholstery falling out stacked up as if to make a bed. It was in this makeshift window bed that the incubus sat, cringing backwards. “Come on, Tsubaki, it’s time to leave this family in peace.”

                “You don’t understand a thing, man, the boy—he promised I could stay, he said he didn’t care, and it was my home before so I had the right to—“

                “His parents pay the mortgage, and it’s not yours anymore.” He could see silvery tears rolling down the creature’s face, and he could understand how the boy could get the idea that maybe this thing had some kind of a soul, could be redeemed. “It’s time for you to take your leave, Tsubaki.”

                “But it was my home…” Tsubaki sobbed.

                “And now it’s time to go.” The Shopkeeper said sternly. “I command all evil spirits to leave this house as I leave it, cross the threshold and never return. I command you, Tsubaki, to leave this house to never darken its step again…” The litany became a tuneless song, and Tsubaki faded to nothing in the sunlight, shoulders heaving in silent sobs. The shopkeeper kicked the salt down the ladder, replaced it in the ceiling, and returned downstairs to the concerned homeowners. “Your incubus is gone.”

                It was nearly ten minutes before he got out of the house, longer than usual. Most people didn’t want him there any longer than he had to be, but these people couldn’t seem to get enough of the fact that he’d exorcised the demon from their home. The entire way back to the shop in the downtown area, he had the feeling of being followed by something more than a little sad. He entered the old building, left the sign flipped to ‘closed’, and headed for the back room, intent on a nap.

                “Well, well, so this is where you call home? And I suppose you know Mr. Alger owns this place?”

                “I know,” the Shopkeeper said in shock, staring at the incubus he’d just exorcised. “Excuse me, but aren’t you supposed to be banished to the depths of hell from whence you came?”

                “Well,” Tsubaki frowned, “even when my stepfather was around he never said such things, and I know he hated me. Hated me enough to murder me for daring to wear a dress, at least.”

                “Wait, so you’re not…”

                “An incubus?” Tsubaki zoomed in close, smiling a disturbing grin. “Afraid not, sir. Just a garden-variety ghost, cast out of the home he was slain in. It’s rather a dull story, and if I told you I was born in a period in which men most certainly didn’t dress as women and my stepfather was livid when I defied the norms, you’d have the meat of the tale. So the question now is, you cast me out. Are you willing to take responsibility or am I to be cast away again, doomed to wander the world and eventually, possibly, become the very thing you tried to exorcise from the house?”

                The Shopkeeper sighed. “Answer me one question: why did the exorcism not work? You should have been sent to the beyond.”

                “Well, you can’t banish evil when there’s no evil there. So I made like a puppy and followed you home.” Tsubaki smiled again, more open and honest, and flitted off between shelves to an alcove. “This space is mine, okay?”

                “What? What do you need space for? You’re a ghost!”

                “I have standards, and I refuse to change clothing in front of you. Speaking of, I’d like some new dresses too, something more modern. If we can keep to a high collar or get some accessories that hide my throat, too, that’d be wonderful.”

                “Wait- what? How the hell did you die anyway!?”

                A sudden rush of cold hit the Shopkeeper, and he couldn’t breathe, could feel the pressure of something at his neck, and he clawed at the offending thing, though it was to no avail. The lack of oxygen burned his lungs, and he opened his mouth to draw a breath. All that rushed in was water, cold and dank and horrid.  He came to on the floor, feeling soaked to the bone though he was dry, Tsubaki standing there above him, holding the collar of his dress down. The ring around his neck was small, but livid, a perfect symmetrical circle that no human hand could have made but could have helped with.

                “It was the bathroom sink, he drowned me in it because I had makeup on. I was going to a party, everyone expected to see Tsubaki there.” As the Shopkeeper gasped on the floor, he smiled sadly and unbuttoned the dress. “Tsubaki’s what people called me, it was my grandmother’s name. I don’t remember mine.” He slid the dress off his shoulders and turned, showing two hand-shaped bruises. “They never caught my stepfather. They didn’t see the bruises. Fucking liver mortis. Held me down in that sink, then laid me out in the bathtub when I was dead and ran water over me. My mother was so shamed…”

                “Fuck… kid, never do that again.” The Shopkeeper ground out, hacking as he tried to clear the fantasy of water from his chest. “Once is more than enough.”

                “I shouldn’t have to.” Tsubaki said imperially.

                “Great, then we’re golden. Now work on figuring out how to mask those bruises and you can wear the really cute stuff. Mask the one on your neck and I’ll get you something in Lolita.”

                “Lolita?”

                “You look like the frills and lace type.” The Shopkeeper said, and walked off to his room. What a crazy day, exorcise a ghost from a house and gain one to haunt his friend’s (but pretty much his now) shop.

                Tsubaki didn’t follow, mercifully. He merely retreated to the alcove he was thinking of as his. This shop was pretty interesting. Dusty but interesting. He’d have to start working on that challenge though. He really did want something more updated.


	3. Part 2- Getting Used to Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adjusting, and home defense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so it has indeed been a hot minute and a half since last we were here, and... oh boy, let me apologize first, and explain second.  
> First, I'm very sorry.  
> Second, I've been absent for good reason. My grandma, if you've been with me since I was posting this on Tumblr, had a knee replacement back in 2017, and there were some complications that arose from that and other health issues. She was in and out of hospital several times in 2018.  
> She passed away at the end of May. It wasn't expected, and I've been in a fairly low place since then. She was a much-beloved member of my family, practically adopted my fiance and my best friend as two more grandchildren, and helped me out when she was under no obligation to do so. She was my emotional rock at times, and always encouraged me to follow my heart and do what I loved.  
> So Grandma, this is for you. I'm going to keep doing what I love. I'm going to keep writing.  
> And readers, I'm going to apologize for my absence by giving you three freshly-edited chapters today.

                It had been a long day for the ghost boy- customers and working with the shop’s old account books, growing accustomed to the place that was deceptively small on the exterior but inside had enough space for a storage room, a workroom, a good kitchen, and several rooms besides his alcove, as well as an upstairs and rooftop entry. He was still prone to getting lost, and it had been almost three weeks here! At least he almost had the shape of the accounts currently- now if he could just get them out of the scribble they were in he’d be doing great.

                Tsubaki was quick to shed the dress he had worn that day as something to help keep him tangible for customers, and donned an old t-shirt that barely hit mid-thigh on him to sleep. He might not have needed it but it did help him recharge, and gave him something to do besides wonder if he could beat the Shopkeeper for letting the accounts get into such a state. They had been relatively decent up until 1963, so what the hell had happened?! As he settled into the old metal-frame bed he’d adopted as his and liberated from the shop, he felt sleep come over him like a wave.

                …Something was wrong. He wasn’t quite sure _what_ , but _something_ was wrong. Tsubaki snuck a quick glance at the old wall clock barely illuminated by the small night light in the hall- quarter past two or thereabouts. And when he strained his ears, he could hear rattling, like the antique silverware set they had just gotten in today- oh _damn it they were being **robbed**!_ Had that _fool_ forgotten to lock the door?!

                Before he really considered all the possible outcomes Tsubaki was up and gliding with purpose through the door and into the main shop. A man stood with his back turned to the boy, quickly scooping brooches and hatpins into a plastic sack, the door wide open to the night, and that just _did it_. “You fucking plebian sack of _shit_ , you do _not_ leave doors wide open at two AM, and you don’t put a 1929 diamond hatpin into a sack from the **_supermarket_** _!_ ”

                The man whipped around, looking ready to say something pissy in response, until his jaw dropped- as well as the bag he held. Then all he could do was scream and run out of the shop as though the hounds of hell were on his heels. Tsubaki was at the door in an instant.

                “And stay the fuck _out!_ ” The door slammed to punctuate it, sending something rattling onto the old hardwood floor. The Shopkeeper appeared in his nightshirt, yawning widely as Tsubaki regained his composure.

                “Tsubaki? Whassamatter?”

                Now his ire was redirected. In seconds he was in the man’s face. “You colossal idiot, we damn near just got _robbed_! Did you _maybe_ forget to lock the damn _door?!_ Or did you genuinely not hear that guy come in?!”

                “…Tsubaki, maybe for you to effectively convey how pissed you are at me, you could go visible?” Still seething, the ghost flickered into more view than a disembodied t-shirt floating about five feet off the ground. “Much better. And no, I _didn’t_ hear until he screamed bloody murder. Guess he saw you, or rather, saw your _nightshirt_ floating there. And no; for the record, I didn’t forget to lock the door. Look on the floor, I think that’s part of a lockpick.”

                On closer inspection, it was, but Tsubaki said nothing. He simply moved a lamp over to the counter, plugged it in, and turned it on. “Security lighting. The damn bakery across the road has it, and by day’s end they don’t have _shit_ left to steal. Tomorrow, historical society be damned, you call a locksmith and get a deadbolt installed. If they want to argue, sit them down with me and I’ll convince them.”

                “I don’t doubt you will,” the Shopkeeper muttered quietly.

                “I’m going back to bed, smartass. Good night.” And with that he was gone. He may not have wanted to be here, but he was now. Like or not he had to protect his home, and the idiot he lived with. He didn’t have much choice.


	4. Part 3- Disagreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguments, and finding one's footing.

                “TSUBAKI!” The roar came through the shop loud and clear, and the ghost emerged from his alcove, dark eyes wide. Any time the Shopkeeper shouted like that, bad things were in store. And if it was his name, well, nothing in his history said it could end well. Tsubaki smoothed his skirt down and waited for the irritated man to enter the hall.

                It wasn’t a very long wait- Tsubaki could see the man’s hair (silver when he had been called to exorcise him from his former home, currently vibrant spring green thanks to a prank)virtually bristling in ire. “ _Where_ , pray tell, is the moonwort essence?”

                “That? I threw it out.” Tsubaki was stunned; that was it? Seriously? The Shopkeeper growled in fury, and the ghost thanked his stars he was already dead.

                “Threw it _out_?! That’s a valuable potion ingredient!”

                “It was a century out of date!”

                “It’s expensive!”

                “It’s at the health food store for $9.99 a bottle!”

                “That’s not pure enough!” The Shopkeeper howled. “The moonwort in that bottle was plucked at the peak of ripeness under a full moon on a clear night by virgins- do you even know how hard it is to _find_ a virgin in this day and age?”

                “CENTURY. OUT. OF. DATE.” In life Tsubaki had been very patient, even when he was in drag and getting hit on by frat boys- younger twin siblings taught either homicidal rage or patience quickly and he’d learned the more virtuous of the two. One of the upsides of death, he supposed, was that he could let go and be impatient with people now, the Shopkeeper in particular. Especially when he was being particularly obstinate. _Keep it up, man, and I’ll dye your hair pink next time,_ he thought to himself darkly.

                “Virgins _._ _Human_ virgins _._ And what about the hen’s teeth, did you toss those out too?”

                “No. You ran out of those a month ago working on that charm for the gambler- he ended up in the paper.”

                “Oh? How so?” The Shopkeeper asked, ire gone to be replaced by budding pride. “Was it a roaring tale of success and defying the odds to triumph over the thievery of the crooked dealers?”

                “He was arrested for cheating at roulette. Apparently had a stopper set up in case your charm failed,” Tsubaki said. He hated the kicked puppy look on the man’s face; he held back on reminding him that as per their bet he was owed a new dress, and he wanted velvet this time dammit.

                “If they’d just _trust_ me… do I really look so incompetent?”

                “No- you _look_ like you went swimming too soon after a bleach job. You _act_ like a prick. And that’s what gets you in trouble.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Well, it’s been my experience,” Tsubaki said, staring up at the man from under his lashes earnestly, “that the less one knows on a topic, especially in men, the more he acts like an ass.”

                “Ah, what would you know, you’re forever sixteen.” The Shopkeeper scoffed. It was a definite downside to death that Tsubaki didn’t get the distinct pleasure of slapping him himself, but he was sure the sudden rise of everything in the room not already nailed down by half a foot conveyed his irritation well enough.

                “Because one such ignorant ass is responsible for why I’m _here_ now, obviously!” he hissed, and vanished back to his alcove, ignoring the Shopkeeper’s summons despite the pain it caused him. Pain was nothing to the sensation of wanting to breathe but only getting water in your lungs for your trouble- when you’d been killed like that the ache behind the eyes ignoring a summon caused was nothing.

                The Shopkeeper would run out of patience soon.

\--

                Tsubaki woke up from his nap, uncertain of date, time- it was like all of those things were suspended in the dark of the shop’s living areas, overlarge for the tiny front. It would likely have blown a mortal’s mind.

                The ghost had merely thought of Diana Wynne Jones and chuckled. Even if she postdated his death, the boy had liked her and given Tsubaki a chance to read her works, something he’d enjoyed greatly. Another thing about the back of the shop was that sound carried better than one would have expected, and while usually he enjoyed the sounds of murmurs and music that filtered back to him, the sound of running water was one that inspired fear and anger. He was in the Shopkeeper’s sanctuary in seconds, shorting out the small zen fountain. “Oh come on, Tsubaki, fifth time this month!”

                “Then maybe you should get the hint and _stop with the traumatizing_. You know what happened!”

                “I do.”

                “Then why do _that_?!” Tsubaki demanded, things beginning to float around him, though he remained visibly unruffled. The Shopkeeper’s starry grey eyes stared up at him calmly.

                “So I could apologize.”

                Tsubaki’s voice was dangerously level, even as his chopped-short hair began to float around his face. “So in order to apologize for being an ass of _almost_ the same caliber as my murdering stepfather, you get my attention with the very _method_ of my death, knowing I don’t care for running water?” The Shopkeeper nodded. “Could you explain just what part of that made sense in your brain?”

                “The part where I haven’t seen you in three days. I know time is immaterial to you, but I’d like to see you _before_ the shop falls around our ears. You’ve been ignoring me, and I wanted to tell you ‘my bad’. I’ve got more moonwort coming in a week, and the hen’s teeth are on express. So I wanted for you to know it’s all cool.”

                “…Please don’t talk like a teenager, it’s scary.” Tsubaki requested, the furniture thumping back to the floor gently. “Where the hell did you even manage to find moonwort that was, how’d you say it, ‘plucked by virgins’?”

                “Well, funniest thing, apparently there’s this little farm in the black forest, they hire women specifically for that job, the pay is so good that apparently most decide never to leave it.” The Shopkeeper reached over and ruffled at Tsubaki’s hair. It never failed to amaze him, that this utter buffoon of a man could be powerful enough to just think _I want to be able to touch him_ and that he would be. Tsubaki had had to work for almost a decade before he could even move the lightest of his personal belongings, over a decade to change his clothing. He had never been able to touch the boy, nor could the boy touch him. But the Shopkeeper was something different. He didn’t care for the man, not like he had for the boy, but it was nice, sometimes, to be able to be touched. “Now though, with that fountain…”

                “You want pink hair next time? Then shut up about the stupid thing. You have a customer waiting at the front desk. If you’re wise, you’ll turn her down, otherwise you’ll have the wrath of a vindictive spirit on you- and I don’t mean me for once.” The dark-haired boy-wraith took off, never seeing the smile on the Shopkeeper’s face.


	5. Part 4- Speculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gossip and speculation.

                “Have you seen the new girl at that antiques shop?” The baker questioned as she handed over a croissant with a small package of clover honey on the side to the woman who managed the furniture shop down the road. Her ruby lips pursed in thought, and she finally grinned.

                “You mean that little dark haired thing in the cute little dresses?” she asked in a rich deep southern accent. The baker nodded and pushed her red curls out of her face. “Only in passing but my, she’s precious. Haven’t had occasion to stop in yet. I have to wonder _where_ he found her, though.”

                “You, me, and everyone else on the block. None of us can figure it out. He wasn’t hiring, we’d have seen the signs. But there she is.”

                “Maybe she’s a relative?”

                “No, I don’t think so. They don’t look alike at all.”

                “Then maybe a lover? Maybe he helped her escape some horrible home life…”

                “You watch too many movies. Besides,” the baker smiled, “they fight too much to be lovers. You should have _heard_ them the other day. Some fuss over stock and he was shouting like I’ve never heard. And she gets on to him about the books all the time. It’s better than TV when they get going, I swear.”

                “Really now? I might have to spend my weekend here to see this. Crap, I better go. See you tomorrow!” And with that she breezed out, smiling brightly into the autumn sunshine.

                The baker went back to people-watching, only occasionally hampered by customers or the oven finishing a batch of small pastries or bread. It was almost two when the bell chimed again, this time a well-dressed man she knew whoowned a local eatery. “Hey, Peter.”

                “Hey, Maude.” The restaurant owner grinned at her. “Didn’t want to make my staff cook for me tonight. Got anything good?”

                “Uhm… croissants are good today, but you know I don’t do anything more substantial. Got some fresh loaves of sourdough left too.”

                “Oh, my staff won’t let me hear the end of it if I bring that in and don’t share. I’ll take three, if you have it.”

                As it turned out she did, and she convinced him to buy a couple dozen cookies for his employees as well. “So, anything exciting and new happen at the antiques shop so far today?” he asked as she bagged the sale up.

                “Uhm, no, nothing so far. No shouting or anything. Clarice thinks they might be lovers, but…”

                All he could do for a moment was laugh, and lean against the counter to watch out the window as people passed by. “Not with that fight last week they aren’t. Besides, she looks… young. Younger than him at any rate. They might be related.”

               Maude pursed her lips and rang the sale in, taking his cash and giving him his change as she looked over at the store. “She thought that too, but I don’t think so. They don’t _look_ related.”

                “My sister’s best friend has a kid who looks nothing like her parents. Not adopted or anything, just weird genes. They could be distantly related.”

                “Then she’d call him by an actual name or something, or uncle or cousin.” She huffed, thinking to her varied nieces and nephews and their friends who called her auntie. Not a one of them used her name, it was just not how it was done. Peter conceded the point a minute later, crossing his arms over his suit jacket. “If we watch long enough, we’ll figure it out.” As she said that, the bell chimed again, this time admitting a leggy blonde in a miniskirt and a peasant blouse.

                “The girl at the antiques shop?”

                “Hi, Jeannie.” The other two chimed. She waved and set some cash on the counter.

                “A cupcake please, and that last loaf of French bread. Date tonight, and he wants garlic bread. I’m making _steak_ , and he wants garlic bread, can you believe?”

                “Coming right up, and I’ll give you my recipe for marinade. He’ll never know what hit him.” Maude smiled, scooting to the shelves behind the counter.

                “So! Anything fun and exciting go on at the shop?” Jeannie questioned.

                “Apparently no, but the day is young yet.” Peter answered. “Clarice is in on this now, she thinks related or lovers.”

                “Clarice?”

                “Manager of the furniture store at the corner of Stone and Creek.” Maude explained as she finished writing. “Speaking of, you still need a new couch?”

                “Yeah. Can she hook me up?”

                “Better believe it. Pop in here tomorrow around noon, I’ll introduce you. But yeah, that’s her theory. What’s yours?”

                Jeannie had to put some thought into it for a minute, putting her change away before she answered. “I’m not sure. I’d say after-school job but school isn’t out for another half hour. And I don’t know about campuses here, but they _sure_ didn’t let kids leave when I was in school. So there’s something going on.”

                “That’s for sure,” Peter sighed. “And tragically, I have to go or my staff will think I’ve abandoned them for the night. I’ll see you later, ladies.” The bell chimed again as he left, and it wasn’t long before Jeannie left too.

                Nothing particularly interesting happened that day- or the next few for that matter. It wasn’t until Sunday that Maude had anything to report, when the group meandered in. Peter was the first to question the wide grin on her face, one brow quirked in confusion. Jeannie seemed to get it immediately. “No way, what happened, what happened?!”

                “Flip the sign to closed, it’s lunch break anyway.” Maude insisted, letting Clarice do the honors and settling at a table. “So, yesterday night after I closed up I dropped by there, my oldest niece has her birthday this weekend and she loves antique jewelry, so I thought I’d pop in there and see what they had. And I’d have _sworn_ that she wasn’t in there when I came in, but she snuck up behind me. And she’s incredibly nice, or at least _I_ think she was.”

                “So she was nice?”

                “Yeah. Said her name was Tsubaki. I didn’t see the owner but she didn’t seem too concerned. Seemed a little miffed when I asked her about him,” Maude shrugged.

                “So she seemed professional? Did you ask her age? Did you ask her anything?” Peter questioned. Clarice was leaning forward in her seat.

                “Well, no, I didn’t ask, I didn’t think to. But she didn’t sound much older than seventeen or so. I just… bought a small set of crystals for my niece and went home. Hey, my husband needed dinner too!” Maude answered the collective groan indignantly. “Have you _seen_ the lunches he tries to cook for me? I swear to you, they could film entire horror epics dedicated to the sins that man commits against cooking.”

               The bell chimed, and five heads whipped around to see the little girl from across the road enter the building. “Sorry, I just- oh, crap, I didn’t notice, I thought you were open through lunch…”

                “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, how are you today? What can I get you?” Maude hustled to get up from the table, and the other four were left to watch as the girl practically glided across the fading tile floor, hems of her knee-length black skirt not even making a rustle.

                “I need a loaf of Italian bread- spaghetti tonight and I realized I have nothing. And I wanted to see if your niece liked the crystals; I thought they were gorgeous and I wanted to know…”

                “Oh, I’m sorry, honey, her birthday isn’t until next weekend, but I’ll come in and tell you what she thought. Italian loaf, right? I’ve got one fresh from the oven, let me get it.”

                It was like being in the presence of a pop star or something- the others were tongue tied as Maude rounded up the bread and took care of checking the girl out. The only words exchanged were between Maude and Tsubaki as they finished up the transaction. It wasn’t until the bell chimed and she had gone that the others groaned, Jeannie actually letting her head thunk to the table.

                “We could have asked her!” Clarice mourned. “We had the chance and we blew it!”

                “Another time,” Jeannie groaned from her position on the table. “We’ll have another chance.”

                Meanwhile across the street, Tsubaki reentered the shop, sighed heavily, and allowed himself to fade slowly after making sure no one was looking. He floated back to the back with his bag, and shouted something to the Shopkeeper along the lines of ‘get your ass out there and watch the counter’, before going into the kitchen. He was still confused as to why he was the topic of speculation. Surely they could figure some stuff out- or at least they could have the courtesy to believe the little fib he fed to the customers about being fresh out of high school and working at a family friend’s. It wasn’t like he couldn’t feed them that fib too, and be believable.

                Ah well. If it made them happy.


End file.
